


Fallen Embers

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alpha Jared Padalecki, Dehumanization, Dubious Consent, Hurt Jared, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slavery, Trope Subversion/Inversion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2018-12-27 14:53:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12083379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Wednesdays are auction days. And Jared hates and loves them in equal parts.





	1. Chapter 1

The outside world, Jared remembers from a memory as remote as a lost dream, is big, very big. Bigger than Jared’s room, bigger than the exercise yard, even bigger than the barren patch of land that surrounds the Kennel. Jared can’t really envision the idea of such a thing, of the existence of huge open spaces without walls, of running roads stretching forever. 

Outside, tall trees grow into forests, sweet birds sing with abandon and clean water flows in blue rivers. And people laugh and cry, love and live, however they want, wherever they want. 

People being free. Free to do whatever they want. Living a life without shackles binding their ankles together. 

It’s such a simple idea but it feels improbable to him, almost impossible to conceive. Light from a star too far to reach the distant corners of Jared's universe.

 

The sun rises early here, but the bell rings even before that, even before the first rays of sunlight hit the face of the earth. It’s an ugly sound, shrill and sharp and merciless, signalling the nature of the day before him. 

Jared wakes up at the first ring, the noise shatters the remnants of his dreams. 

They call it a cell. The place where Jared lives.

A cell is such a crude word, and it brings up unfortunate, unwanted associations to Jared’s mind. Of criminals being kept in Jails, of prisoners being kept in concentration camps, of Jared serving his time for his sins.

Which is why, he avoids using that word.  Prefers to call it a room. A small, modest room, but a room nevertheless. A place where Jared’s living not because he has to, but because he wants to. A place that will let him leave. Not today or tomorrow, but soon. 

There is a single cot in his room. It’s an old piece of furniture, crudely built and made of cheap wood, a poor mimicry of the real thing. Bare, devoid of a mattress or a comforter. All hard angles on his naked skin. 

The things around here aren’t perfect, but it’s not all awful. The room may not be large or luxurious, but it's big enough to contain him. The bed may not be soft or comfortable, but it’s still better than the cold hard stone of the floor.  

Besides, it’s his. All his. 

The Kennel is Jared’s home. The meager space between the four walls his territory. The exercise yard his sanctuary.  

 

The Kennel operates under strict protocols. There are a set of regulations and all of them are deemed inviolable. From the first ring of the morning bell to the last glimpse of the evening guard--everything happens according to the rules, everything has a distinct rhythm. 

When Jared was brought here, fresh and full of fire, he was given a short course on these subjects. He was a late bloomer, older than most newbies and wiser than his young years. He was keen on learning, on knowing what happened to him, and on finding a way to make himself better.

He listened to every word, remembered and recited every statement until it became a part of his soul. It didn’t help him much, didn’t change his fate, didn’t open any new opportunities for him, but it sure did make him well-informed than others who shared his space. 

Maintaining discipline, Jared’s been told, is of paramount importance. And establishing a strict routine is the first step to establish stability.

People excel under stable conditions, in predictable environments. Putting people in unpredictable, chaotic situations accomplishes nothing. It only leads to disastrous outcomes.

But that’s not the only consideration here. There is something else, something bigger and more important --establishing dominance. Animals, violent unruly animals, need to be controlled, commanded. They don’t understand civilized words or refined concepts. They don’t get the sophisticated ideas or noble intentions. The animals are crude and vulgar, feral and unenlightened. And they needed to be handled differently.

Jared wasn’t an animal. Isn’t an animal. He knows that, understands his own humanity on a visceral level. No matter what the masters tell him, no matter what the life in Kennel teaches him.

People are not properties. People do not get sold. Animals are. They do. What more evidence Jared needs to see the lie in his thoughts? What data he has to prove himself right? 

So it’s becoming a little harder with each passing day to believe in his own convictions. In what he knows to be true. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to see the light of the day from his darkened, small corner of the Kennel.

Especially on Wednesdays.  

 

Wednesdays are auction days. 

Wednesdays are auction days. Wednesdays are when the Kennel opens it’s doors like a town whore opens her legs and invites everyone inside. To come and sample her treats, to take whatever they want without restrain. To watch the freak show and to enjoy. 

Wednesdays are when people come to the Kennel, to watch, to mock and to buy. 

To buy.

Wednesdays are auction days. And Jared hates and loves them in equal parts. 


	2. Chapter 2

Jared does not remember many things from before.

It wasn’t a side effect of meds or a consequence of his current circumstances. It was a conscious choice, a continuous process. It was the result of a habit he cultivated throughout years, a product of a very difficult decision he made. 

After that first month in the Kennel, after initial shock had wore on and before his tears had completely dried up, there was this pocket of time, this limbo like state, when Jared had dared to hope. When he had asked for miracles, when he had spent countless sleepless nights in the dark corner of his cell, fingers twisted around the metal bars, head bowed in silence, lips half open with unsaid prayers. 

It was difficult to plan his escape or even concentrate on anything, his days were hectic, and his body was tired beyond belief after all the drills and the training. But even with exhaustion setting in the very corner of his soul, Jared hadn’t been able to fall asleep, hadn’t been able to let go. Instead, he had cling to what was left of his past, seeking solace in things that were no more. And since all he had left was memories, he had held onto each and every one of them, had cherished every single moment, every insignificant detail. Had replayed them a thousand times in his mind, trying to take comfort in the familiar. 

He had held onto them for a long, long time. Longer than he should have. 

No one had tried to reach him. No one had answered his prayers. No one had opened the locks to let him out. No one had come to save him. It was like he was forgotten, it was like he had ceased to exist. And slowly, very slowly, Jared had learned to not to hope. It was a long, painful process, but after one too many beatings, he had the lesson etched into his skull. 

He still gets these flashes, these instance where his mind betrays him and shows him scenes from a life long lost ---a picnic by the lake, a kind hand on his nape, a night spent under the stars and by the campfire, a quiet laughter of a child. And Jared can swear he can scent the fresh pancakes or feel the warmth of firelight on his skin, as real as anything in this place.   

He does his best not to indulge, refuses to stay in the distant dream like palace of grand memories. Sooner or later, the dreams are going to break and the memories are going to fade. Which is why, he always tries to suppress, tries to forget.

 

There is one memory which he cherishes, and strangely, it doesn't feature his mother or father. Or anyone else from his family. 

It featured a sad, old pig from a factory farm.

Animals can go mad when put in cages. When they are confined in narrow spaces. When they are denied their basic breathing spaces. The documentary, produced by one of those bleeding-heart types, had explored and explained the very concept. 

There was this one pig, bald and bare, caged and helpless. Made to be bred and kept in a crate where it had no space to even turn around. It was a sick sight all over, repulsive and piteous but there was an expression on it's face, a look that conveyed hopelessness and insanity in equal measures. Jared had watched, fascinated, as the presenter lamented about the inhumanity of the practice, of the sufferings inflicted upon these sentient animals by people who should know better. 

As a child, Jared hadn’t comprehended the magnitude of the idea, of the realness of the concept. He was a happy child, shielded and protected, carefree and curious. To him, it was just another one of Saturday night special programs, just another one of the slightly icky but necessary realities of the life. But now, when he sits in his cell in the Kennel, when he washes and prepares for the weekly auction, he understands the despair and horror of it. He had used that memory as a shield, as a soothing band. And now he does the same to calm his raising heart. He had it bad, true, but that female pig had it worse. There is always someone who has it worse than you do and Jared could hold on to that concept, find solace in that shared misery.

After all, like that pig, he only has two choices. Adapt and accept or go insane. Try to live the life in the moment or die. Jared is trying to live. 

 

It’s been hours since the auction has started, but for Jared, it feels like an eternity has passed.  

Jared’s muscles cramp and protest, but there is no relief to be had now, not until the auction is over. 

It's been a slow day, relatively speaking. There are plenty of folks around, but most of them are betas, here to watch and mock, not to buy. The prized, sweet scent, the one announces omegas and buyers in the same breath, is starkly absent. Not like any of them would choose him, anyway, but right now, he doesn't even has the possibility to entertain. 

The cage is too small for him. They must have put him in a smaller model, and Jared doesn't know if that was a honest mistake or a revenge for some perceived slight. He hasn't pissed off any guards this week and he generally keeps to himself, as much as he can. But since he's on the market for too long, he is considered stale goods. Which is why, Jared doesn't know if this is intentional or not. 

But that's not important. The pain and numbness in his limbs is. He wants to turn, to relieve the pain and discomfort in his shoulders, but the chains hold him tight in their grips, force him to kneel when all he wants to is to stand tall. He growls in frustration.  

He hasn't meant to growl, he thought he was calm enough to get through Wednesdays without attracting attention. Wrong kind of attention, that is. 

But then, the collar around his throat comes to life, sends a stream of vibrations throughout his body. It isn't painful this time, but it's still a warning, a trailer to the next time should he cross the line. But its enough to make him relax, enough to put him in a lull. 

After all these years, the collar has become a part of him, the metal an extension of his own body. It’s shape an imprint on the soft pliable skin around his neck, like a cold hand curved around the very fragile center of him. 

There is no need to put him in chains. To bind his hands or to bend his body in unnatural shapes. There is no need for any of these things. He is already bound, already helpless even without the chains around his ankles. Already a slave even without kneeling in the cage. 

The collar makes sure of that. Has made sure of that. 

This, this whole setup, chains and cages and blindfolds are just there for the show value. Jared contemplates just as the fresh scent of omega hits him. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the short update. Writer's block sucks, but I'm slowly getting back in the game. Hopefully my muse will stop being so stubborn now. 
> 
> I'm looking for a beta reader. Please leave a comment if you are interested.

There is a short duration between this inhale and the next, a moment of respite before the scent invades his nostrils and overtakes his being. Jared struggles to hold on to that moment, to prolong the inevitable, but as always, he fails. The time slips through him like sand slipping through unlocked fingers, certain and unavoidable.

The chatter around him dies down, the jeering voices and mocking calls cease, and a revered silence replaces the careless teasing.

The omega, a woman, walks in.

Jared breathes her scent in, greedily absorbs the essence of it in his lungs, tries to hold it in his chest, hopes to rub himself in it.

Cardamom and Lavender. Jared’s favorites. Oh, how they bring back long lost memories to him, how he longs to drown himself in them.

He can’t see much from his position, can’t move around or stand up so he angles his body toward her, lifts his eyes and tries to catch a glimpse of her. It’s painful, and he’s vaguely aware of the strain, of popping shoulders and overstretched muscles, but he doesn’t give a damn about them. A devotee on his knees in front of his goddess.

There is a revulsion in him, a feeling of growing discomfort, an inkling of shame and horror. Why can't he stay unaffected? Why does he want her? Why can’t he keep his dignity? Why is he doomed to be a slave to his baser instincts? But the questions escape him even as he struggles to come up with reasons, his mind drunk on pheromones and utterly incapable of forming a coherent thought.

Jared doesn’t have any control here, doesn’t have a say in how his body chooses to react. Never has and never will.

He’s an animal, a primal, vulgar, brainless animal. An animal who can’t control his own actions, who is ruled by millennia old instincts, an animal who has to be locked in, who has to be imprisoned for the sake of the greater good. For the safety of himself and others. He learns this lesson on every Wednesday. Without reprieve.

She walks around, beautiful and pristine, a goddess among these mere mortals. The Kennel owner, a man named Mark, follows her. Prepared to cater to her every request.

Jared has been through enough Wednesdays to know the next steps by his heart. The routine is the same even if players are different, so he waits in learned dejection.

The Kennel has more than a hundred specimens. The large hall, where the auction is held on Wednesdays, has barely enough room to display all of them. The cages, therefore, aren't just there for decoration, they solve a practical problem.

Jared's cage is in the last row.

He is an unwanted specimen, too old and too unpleasant to be kept on the front aisle. You don't put soiled merchandise at the entrance, you don't put last years unsold goods in the first row, you hide them in the back, lest they offend your customers. It's basic marketing. Jared isn't even mad at them anymore. But it still stings.

He closes his eyes and waits.

 

“You see the crossroads over there?” Gen responds with an affirmative. “Take the first left from there, continue straight ahead for a few miles and you ought to see the Kennel” the shopkeeper says. “You can’t really miss it anyway” he laughs displaying non even teeth.

The alpha rehabilitation center or the Kennel as it's popularly known, sits at the outskirts of the city, away from the sights and minds of the general public. She hadn’t been able to find it on google, so she had to resort to asking directions from strangers.

She thanks him and leaves, does as she's told and finds herself on a poorly kept country road. The road is riddled with pebbles and she winces as tires screech in protest, but before long, she reaches her destination.

The rehabilitation center sticks up like a sore thumb against its surroundings. It's big and old, but it lacks the charm many old buildings possess. It's clean and well kept, and nothing objectionable but she still finds something unusual about it, almost unpleasant.

Maybe its the walls, she ponders as she unlocks the gate with her chip, the fences she could understand, but walls make everything so different, so claustrophobic. The compound is huge and completely encases the center, making it look like a prison. and Gen has never been fond of prisons.

For a fleeing second, she does think of inhabitants. She understands why they have to be kept here, isolated and secluded from the society, but at the same time, she can't imagine living here, completely cut off from everything and everyone. She doesn't sympathize, of course, but she understands.

She isn’t one of them, one of those “alpha lovers”. People who keep alpha pets for entertainment. She isn't weird like that. She isn’t one of those religious nutcases either, the ones who still believe in purity of alpha/omega mating. She is perfectly normal, happy with her sex life, in tune with her beta partner. She has no use for an alpha pet, not in her life or not in her bedroom.

Yet, here she is, shopping alphas in this shady institution.

She already regrets her decision. But impulsive or not, she is here and she has made up her mind, so she will see through this.

After all, Jensen's been there for her when she needed him, he's been a great friend, supportive and kind, and she owes him her happiness. This is the least she could do for him, give him a gift, perhaps as a surprise. He deserves it, and if the black circles beneath his eyes are any indication, he also needs this, badly.

The manager, a beta named Mark, greets her at the entrance. He’s got sleazy eyes and a too big smile, but he’s eager to serve so she ignores his over-zealousness.

After all, he’s stuck here with nothing but these animals for company, all day, everyday. She can’t fault him for being enthusiastic when he spots an omega in the wild.

"This way," Mark says and opens the door for her. She gracefully accepts.

         

**Author's Note:**

> Should I continue? Tell me what you think :)


End file.
